The Sandman Presents: A Christmas Carol
by Benji The Vampire Confuser
Summary: Once every hundred years, the Endless may, if petitioned, intervene in the life of a single soul, and give it the chance to avert it's fate.
1. We The Undersigned

**The Sandman Presents:**

**A Christmas Carol**

**By Benji: the Vampire Confuser**

_Based on characters and situations created by Charles Dickens and Neil Gaiman._

* * *

**Chapter the First:**

**We the Undersigned**

"There has been a consensus then?" asked the solemn, draped and hooded figure that faced Jacob.

"Absolutely." The ghost answered. "It's taken six years, but we're finally all agreed. He is the one."

"Very well." The figure declared, turning a page in it's book. "Three of my family shall visit him on the birth of your lord. Prepare yourself."

With that, Jacob Marley found himself alone once more. He tightened the bandage holding his mouth together and drifted, collecting his strength for the encounter he knew must come. Six years since he had died. Nearing seven now. The weight of his chain bore him down still, despite his hope that he'd have grown accustomed to it. One year to form the plan and learn the particulars of how it could be done. And five more to convince the other souls that it SHOULD be done, and it should be Scrooge that should be chosen. Each wished to intervene for good in human affairs, and had largely lost the power, but there was hope yet. Every century, a single human soul could be given a chance to avert the fate that awaited it, if only there were those who would speak for them. Jacob saw saving Scrooge as an opportunity to save himself in a way. Though he knew his chains would never be shed, nor those of any of those who petitioned with him, his ethereal heart lightened to know that if Scrooge took heed, and changed, then Jacob, and the others, WOULD have succeeded in what they sorely wished to do, and help someone.

* * *

"So," Death asked, reclining in her seat, her brother's raven perched on the back of the chair, "We get it?"

Destiny nodded. "It has been agreed upon. The chosen one, is Ebeneezer Scrooge." He turned to his brother.

"My realm, as it has been in the past for this purpose, is at your disposal." Dream declared before the eldest had a chance to speak.

Again, Destiny nodded. "Very well."

"Not to rain on anyone's parade here," Desire said, stretching like a cat. "But one of our dear number isn't here. And somehow, I can't picture Dream, Despair, or Delerium putting on the wreath and giving the grand tour."

"Zod messed the scary Gentlemen, let frothing you delay…" Delerium was singing.

"I think Del would look cute in the wreath and robe." Death giggled, ruffling her youngest sister's hair. Del retaliated by changing her hair into hair. "So there." She muttered, though a grin was on her face.

Destiny held up a hand for silence. His book was open. "Destruction will be there. There is no need to fret. About that."

The Endless sat for a moment, in silence. Then, Despair spoke up.

"Think THIS one will listen?"

To be continued…


	2. Once Upon A Time

**Chapter The Second**

**Once Upon A Time…**

Ebeneezer Scrooge was not a man to be taken lightly. That was a lesson that all learned quickly, or the hard way. He was not a kind man. He was not a compassionate man. And yet he was not especially cruel. It was not that Ebeneezer enjoyed the pain of others. It was simply that he was indifferent to it. Scrooge had hardened himself, inwardly and outwardly to such a degree that it seemed nothing could shake him from his immovable state of greed, stinginess, and self possession. He wanted no comfort or quarter from the world, and offered none in return.

Thus it was that he'd never bothered to paint out Jacob Marley's name from the sign outside the counting house. Why should he? Why spend hard earned money to replace a sign that was perfectly serviceable still? True there were those who mistook him for Marley but it made no difference to him, he answered to both names.

Thus it was also that he rarely, if ever gave a thought to his clerk, Bob Cratchitt, unless the man had done something wrong. He scarcely acknowledged the man's presence save to give him work, and pay him every week.

Therefore, Scrooge was barely aware of the holiday season. He made no special occasion of Christmas, save that he grudgingly, ever so grudgingly allowed his Clerk the day off. He would have forgotten Christmas entirely were it not for the constant reminders. Noisy carolers, bothersome solicitors, garish decorations. Scrooge thought it all terribly naïve. To forget how cold and uncaring the world was, and carry on with such frivolity. "Bah." He muttered to himself. "Humbug."

Unapproachable at the best of times, Scrooge made himself downright foreboding during the Christmas season as somewhat of a defense against the incessant cheer.

He built up such a wall around himself that it was little wonder that he hadn't noticed his Nephew's entrance into the counting house until the boy announced himself.

"Merry Christmas Uncle!" Fred greeted warmly. "God save you!"

Scrooge barely glanced up from his papers before growling out "Bah. Humbug."

"Christmas a humbug uncle? I'm sure you don't mean that."

"I do. Merry Christmas," he grimaced in distaste.

"Oh don't be cross uncle," Fred cajoled.

"What else can I be, when I live in such a world of fools? If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with Merry Christmas on his lips, should be boiled in his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart."

Fred looked at him in shock. "Uncle!"

"Nephew!" Scrooge mocked. "Keep Christmas in your way and let me keep it in mine."

"But," Fred stammered, "You don't keep it. Come come uncle," Fred tried again, "Dine with us tomorrow."

"I'll see you in Hell first."

"But, but why?" his nephew asked in dismay. No matter how he tried to break through to the only link he had left of his mother, it seemed impossible sometimes. "I want nothing from you. Why can't we be friends?"

"Good afternoon."

Fred sighed, resignedly. "I'm sorry to find you so resolute. But I shall keep my Christmas humor to the last. A Merry Christmas Uncle."

"Good afternoon."

"And a happy new year!"

"Good afternoon!"

Scrooge hoped that would be the end of the interruptions, and he could get back to work. Sadly, this was not the case. For as Fred left, two portly gentlemen entered.

"Scrooge and Marley's I presume." Said one. "Am I addressing Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?"

Scrooge sighed inwardly, but kept his temper in check. It was possible these two were here for business, and if that were the case, he could at least be civil. "Mr. Marley has been dead for seven years." He told them. "He died seven years ago, this very night in fact."

Unrattled, the gentleman soldiered on. "I have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner. At this joyous time of the year Mr. Scrooge, it is more than usually desirable to make some slight provision for the poor, who suffer greatly at the present time."

Ebeneezer groaned. Was there no escape from this foolishness? He tried to keep the world at bay, but it simply would not let him be. "Are there no prisons, no poorhouses?" he asked, hoping to get his point across with minimal fuss.

"Plenty of prisons sir."

"And the workhouses are still in operation?"

"They are, though I wish I could say they were not."

"The treadmill, and the poor law are in full vigor then."

"Both, very busy sir."

Scrooge sighed with relief. "Oh good. For a moment I thought from what you have said that something had happened to stop them in their usual course."

"Under the understanding that they hardly provide Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude, we are endeavoring to raise funds to buy the poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We choose this time especially because it is a time when want is most keenly felt, and abundance rejoices. What shall we put you down for?"

"Nothing."

"You wish to remain anonymous?"

What in the name of all that is holy was wrong with these men? How could anyone, even charity workers be so dense? "I wish, to be left alone. My taxes go to support the establishments I have mentioned, they cost enough, and those who are badly off must go there."

"But, many can't go there. And many would rather die." The second man finally spoke up.

"If they'd rather die then they'd better do it. And decrease the surplus population." At that he finally got his point across and the fat men beat a hasty retreat. Scrooge relaxed, and smiled. Or at least his scowl became less stringent. Maybe the rest of the day would-

"God rest ye merry gentlemen-" Outside his door, a young man began singing. Not only was the interruption unappreciated, the boy's voice was horrendous. Scrooge seized the poker from the fireplace and brandished it threateningly.

"Bloody old git," the boy swore once he was safely away, "I oughta-"

"Easy there ducks." A withered voice said, as an old hand lay upon his shoulder. The boy looked and saw a stooped, heavyset woman looking with a mysterious smile at the counting house door. "Sumfinks in the wind me lad. Ebyneezer'll get more'n 'e bargained for this Yule."

"Whatchoo mean Hettie?" the boy asked. All street folk knew her, though not all were as polite as this one. Most added the name Mad before calling her Hettie. As a reward, Hettie gave him a gold coin.

"You wait an' see boy." She grinned. "Reckon tomorry'll be a remarkable."

To Be Continued…


	3. The Messenger

**Chapter the Third**

**The Messenger**

Upon the striking of the hour of six PM, Scrooge closed his ledger, and glanced up at his clerk, who seemed most eager to depart. He always was of course, but on this evening it was most evident. Scrooge was not surprised. The occasion had been hammered into him this afternoon and so he knew what was on Cratchitt's mind.

"I suppose you'll want the whole of tomorrow off." He grumbled.

"W-well," Bob stammered, embarrassed, "If, uhm, if it's quite convenient sir."

"Convenient?" Scrooge barked. "Convenient? Of course it's not convenient. Nor fair either. If I was to dock you even half a crown you'd feel ill used. But no one thinks me ill used for giving you a day's wages for no work."

"Well," the clerk said, looking down at the floor in shame, "It's only once a year sir."

"Bah. That's a poor excuse for picking a hard working man's pocket every December 25th." He put on his coat and hat, knowing that Bob was waiting for a definite yes or no. He sighed. He could think of no other businesses that would be open tomorrow. Sometimes it seemed he was the only sensible man in the whole of London. But with no other businesses open, why bother opening himself? He could do without Cratchitt for one day. "Be here all the earlier next morning." He said grudgingly, and stepped out into the cold.

"Thank you sir!" Bob said heartily. "Thank you sir Me-" He wisely stopped himself before the merry Christmas could slip out. Scrooge said nothing, but went on his way. He didn't change his routine any. He sat in a tavern going over accounts in his bankers book, drinking a bit of ale and eating a bit of food, then headed home to bed.

The building he lived in was older than the rest of the neighborhood, and no-one lived in it but Scrooge. He kept a set of rooms for himself on the middle floor but one could hardly call it home. It was where he slept only. Where he kept his belongings. He spent little time there and invested even less emotion in it.

The rest of the building he rented out to businesses. Businesses which were all closed and gone home by the time he got there.

Therefore, there were no witnesses to the phenomenon which greeted Ebenezer when he thrust his key into the lock of the door. The old miser was a hard man to rattle, having little imagination and little care for others, or indeed for himself. But rattled he was, and his blood chilled, when he saw that Marley's face had replaced the usual design on the knocker. Scrooge's breath caught in his throat as the unearthly specter gazed at him mournfully. But then suddenly it was gone. He blinked, to be sure he'd seen it in the first place. The knocker had returned to it's natural state.

Swallowing, Scrooge muttered a humbug, and turned the key resolutely and entered the building.

Most men after seeing such a sight would have balked at the darkness surrounding them. But Scrooge actually quite liked the dark. After all, it cost much less than light did. But he did, however, check all through his rooms, just in case. And double locked his door, which he did not usually do. Everything had been as it should be, and he dismissed the matter as a brief flight of fancy.

Scrooge, let it be known, was not a man to heap hardships on others that he did not endure himself. For though he was stingy with the coal for Bob Cratchitt's fire, he too kept low fires. Wood was no cheaper than coal, and so it was barely warmer in his own bedroom than it was throughout the building. He sat close, with a bowl of gruel, and tried to ignore the pictures of Marley that had inexplicably appeared on the tiles in the fireplace.

He could not however ignore the bell, which hung above, which he supposed was meant to summon the servants from their quarters on the top floor, when there had been servants here.

It was ringing. Of it's own accord, for the string that had once been attached to it was long gone. And yet it rang out loudly and clearly, preceding every bell in the house before all was silent once more.

Even now, after all that, Scrooge was adamant. He would not be shaken by bells. Nor misbehaving knockers, nor darkness, nor chains dragged across floors-

His blood chilled once more. Chains. An ominous sound to be sure, emanating through the floorboards at his feet, coming from the basement. But they did not stay there, though that would have been horror enough. No they proceeded up the stairs, slowly, steadily, seeming to clank in time with Scrooge's pounding heart.

Never minding the heavy locked door, the owner of the chains passed through into Scrooge's room, and faced him. It was Marley. There could be no mistaking him, despite his pale, transparent appearance. And yet Scrooge forced himself into a mode of questioning.

"Who are you?" he hissed, rising from his chair and backing away.

The ghost smirked slightly. "That's not quite the question is it old friend? Try this, who WAS I?"

Scrooge scowled despite his fear. "Very well then, who were you?"

"I was, in life, Jacob Marley. Your partner."

Scrooge swallowed, and forced himself to expel his fear.

The ghost knew his old partner well, and saw it in his face. "You don't believe in me."

"No." came the unrepentant answer.

"Is seeing not believing Ebenezer?"

"Not so." Scrooge forged on. "I could have fallen asleep and be dreaming. Or even a bit of undigested beef is giving me this vision. I could swallow a toothpick and be haunted by goblins from my own mind."

Marley let out an unearthly shriek that seemed to emanate from the very walls. No mortal creature, or flight of fancy could have made that sound. No Scrooge could not have dreamed such a cry in his very worst nightmares. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, trembling.

"W-what do you want?" he asked in a small voice.

"Do you believe in me?"

"Y-yes," Scrooge allowed. "I-I must. But why, why are you here?"

The ghost's face softened. It was such a peculiar expression to appear on Marley's face that Scrooge was not certain how to interpret it. "It is required of everyone, that the spirit within them, should go about, among their fellows. If they do not do so in life, they must do so after they have died. Witnessing what they cannot share, but might have shared and turned to happiness." There appeared such a look of misery upon his face that again Scrooge was taken aback. This was, quite frankly, more emotion than he'd ever seen on his old friend's face. And it disturbed him to realize this.

Scrooge found himself less and less afraid of the specter before him, and more and more curious. "Tell me, what is that chain that binds you?"

"This is the chain I forged with my life." Marley answered. "With each act of greed, and indifference, and cruelty." With a darkening look, Marley raised his eyes to Scrooge's. "The chain you have created waits for you. It was as long as this the night I passed, and you have labored on it." Rising before Scrooge could say anything more, Marley continued. "I am here tonight to warn you. To tell you that you still have a hope, a chance of escaping my fate. A chance that it has taken me seven years to procure for you. You will be visited by three spirits."

"Is, is that the chance you speak of?"

Marley couldn't help but smirk. "It is."

"I think I'd rather not if it's all the same to you."

"Expect the first tonight, when the bell tolls one. The second will come the next night at the same time, and the third, the night after that upon the stroke of one."

"Couldn't I just meet them all at the same time and get it done?"

Marley shook his head. "I pray we will not see each other again old friend. For if we do not, it means that you have succeeded, where I have failed. Remember what I have told you. And remember me." As he spoke, Jacob backed towards the window, and with every step, it opened a little wider, until it was wide enough for him to exit out of.

Unable to stop his curiosity, Scrooge dashed over, and peered out. He heard them before he saw them. Ghosts. Hundreds of them, all wailing in lament and sorrow and regret.

He felt a strange sensation, one of pity as he saw clearly, that they all wished to aid the suffering they saw, and could never do so. But as they faded away, Scrooge found himself overwhelmed with the desire to sleep, and obeyed it willingly.

To Be Continued…


	4. The First Spirit

**Chapter the Fourth**

**The First Spirit**

Bong…

Bong…

Bong…

"Erm."

Bong…

"zzzzzzzzz…"

Bong…

Bong…

Bong…

"Wha?"

Bong…

Bong…

"Nine,"

Bong…

"Ten…"

Bong…

"Eleven."

Bong

"Twelve." Twelve. It took a moment for Scrooge's sleep clouded brain to think why he would have woken at this time. He'd slept through the tolling of midnight every night before, why should this night be any different? Then he remembered what Marley's shade had told him. To expect the first visit at the stroke of one. No doubt it was anticipation of this rendezvous that had roused him. He decided to stay awake for the next hour so as not to be awakened rudely by his visitor. His anticipation, and not being able to see the clock made time go so slowly, that he thought more than once that he must have dozed off and slept through it. Finally, he heard the clock tower chime. Announcing the quarters first, then the hour with a deep,

BONG

And a pale hand pulled open his bed curtains. "Rise and shine Ebenezer."

Scrooge started back, drawing his blanket up to cover himself in his surprise. Beside his bed stood a young woman, the black of her hair contrasting sharply with the sharp white of her skin. She was dressed simply in a black frock, but tucked under her arm was a top hat, with an umbrella hanging from her elbow, and around her neck hung a pendant with a symbol he did not recognize.

"You are the spirit who's coming was foretold to me?" he asked hesitantly.

"That's me." She said brightly. "Spirit of Christmas Past at your service."

"On the stroke itself." He muttered.

"I never arrive a second before or after I'm meant to." She answered, smiling warmly.

Scrooge peered at her. "Spirit forgive me, but have we met before?"

She seemed almost bashful for a moment, her smile widening. "We have. Most people meet me twice in their lives." Then her face grew stern. "But don't try to change the subject. Come on." She held out her hand, and swallowing his fear, he took it.

"Where are we going?" he asked, as she drew him towards the window.

"Down Memory Lane." Came the answer. As she lead him closer to the window, he faltered. "Spirit I beg you, I am Mortal, liable to fall."

The spirit squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Relax Ebenezer. You won't fall. Trust me."

Strangely, he did, and followed her with no further objections. The wall before them faded, and they found themselves standing on a country road.

"Are you ready Ebenezer?" his unearthly companion asked. "This is your life."

It took Scrooge a moment to recognize the area, but when he did, an expression of awe and pleasure crossed his face. He knew the road well, from the wagon ruts on either side, to the fields bordering it. Though he did not recall the pumpkin headed scarecrow with a cigar.

"Recognize this place?" his guide asked him as they started down the road.

"Recognize it?" he said incredulously. "I could be blindfolded and still find my way. I was a boy here." A low cluster of buildings rose into view before him and he broke out into a sad sort of smile. "Yes, sure enough. I went to school, there, for years."

"Strange how things you haven't thought about for years can come back to you in an instant isn't it." She said.

As they entered the yard of the school, Scrooge jumped back suddenly for a horse drawn cart barreled through the gateway, full of laughing, happy children, on their way home for the Christmas holiday.

"The school's not completely empty is it Ebenezer?" she asked compassionately.

"No." Scrooge said. "No there is one boy left." Without prompting, he strode to the door of the dormitory, entered, and beheld his own self, as a young boy, sitting alone. He sat reading by the light streaming in through the window. His face a melancholy mask of a boy trying not to be lonely.

"I didn't mind really." Scrooge said unconvincingly. "It was good spending time alone. I was ahead of all the other boys because I had more time to study.

Christmas Past sat down at the foot of the boy's bed, and looked at him for a moment. Then she turned to Ebenezer and raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah. You're ecstatic." A wave of her hand and the boy faded away, and the room aged around them. Scrooge started, and looked around in shock. He was amazed to see the process of time sped up so. He looked back at the bed as the dark haired spirit hopped up.

"C'mon Ebenezer, you're in the main building now."

His brow furrowed at her way of speaking, but followed her lead to the main school building. There they found young Scrooge once more. Older now, but still quite a young man. He was not sitting now, but pacing with great energy. His face bore an expression of, one who dared not hope.

Scrooge, knowing full well what would happen next, for he remembered this well, turned to look towards the door, as sure enough, a young girl burst through, and threw herself upon the young memory, crying tears of joy.

"Home Eb!" she cried. "I've come to bring you home! Forever and ever! Father's ever so much kinder than he was before, and I asked if you could come home and he said you could! We'll finally be together again for Christmas!"

The tiny girl barely drew breath between sentences such was her excitement and joy. And still gleefully proclaiming his freedom and homecoming, and extolling the virtues of their much changed father, the girl nearly dragged Young Scrooge from the room.

The spirit watched, and giggled a little at the girl's exuberance. "Lotta energy for such a small child." She remarked.

Scrooge, wore a rare smile upon his face. A sad, tender smile that had not been seen there for decades. "Always." He remembered. "Dear Fan. A breath of wind could have scattered her. But always such boundless energy. One couldn't help but be swept away by it."

"She died a young woman." His guide said, with an enigmatic smile. "But not before giving birth to a child." Scrooge took a deep breath. "A son right?"

He gave her a look that said quite plainly that he knew perfectly well that she knew the answer to her own question. "Yes. Fred. My nephew."

"Ebenezer!" a boisterous voice broke in. Scrooge spun, startled at the familiar bellow. He found himself no longer in the school house, but in the business of Fezziwig, his old employer and mentor.

"Good lord," he muttered, "Fezziwig! Fezziwig alive and loud as ever!"

The Spirit of Christmas Past smiled once more. "So you know this man?"

"Know him? I was his apprentice for half a decade! I and-"

"Dick!" Fezziwig called out. "Eb! Dick! No more work tonight lads! Christmas Eve boys! Let's have the shutters up now! Come come, before you can say Jack Robinson!"

The two were off like a shot. It seemed impossible to Scrooge that he had ever been able to move that fast or with such enthusiasm. In what seemed like a twinkling Jack and Ebenezer had closed up the shop, and were back to help Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig set up for the evening's festivities.

And what a party it was. It was well known in that part of the town that there was one place to be on Christmas Eve. Dancing, music, food, drink, and the best company one could ask for. Scrooge, though he did not recall, nor had he ever known every name, knew and remembered every face. And even some of the stories that went along with them. He almost let himself be swept up in the magic and energy of the evening, when his eyes lit upon one face in particular.

It was a face he'd gotten to know quite well in the years to come, and hardly a day went by, though he'd never admit it, when he did not see it still in his minds eye. Always like this. The night he had met her.

"Belle." He whispered, watching his younger self look shyly at the girl, then look away. Dick of course could always be counted on, for the moment he saw that Scrooge fancied the girl, he went into action.

"Hello," he said, shoving Scrooge nearly into her, "Have you met Ebenezer?"

The spirit laughed at that, and Scrooge was caught up in her good spirits. Her smile was so guileless and kind. But soon enough, the scene shifted once more and her smile slowly died. Replaced by a compassionate look of sadness.

"Oh no," Scrooge begged, sensing what was to come, "No spirit I beg of you, do not show me that Christmas. You would not be so cruel?"

"I'm not cruel at all Ebenezer." She said softly, taking his hand. "I just am." She turned him towards the bench in the park where two people sat side by side. "I'm sorry, but you have to remember this. To see it with fresh eyes."

"You've changed Eb." The woman, Belle said to the young man.

"What?" Young Scrooge asked. "What do you mean changed?"

"You've grown cold Eb. Distant. Towards me. You've hardly said one word to me all week. Once you spoke so kindly to me, all the time. Now it seems your only concern is business. Money."

"Belle," Young Scrooge said patiently. "I am securing our future. The world is unforgiving of those who do not prepare."

Belle shook her head. "No it's more than that. You may have started with that goal in mind, but now you are obsessed with gain. You've shut out all else. Even me."

Young Scrooge sighed with exasperation. "There is nothing the world is so hard on as poverty. I have seen that with my own eyes. You have lived it. And yet there is nothing the world professes to despise more than the pursuit of wealth. Save me from such hypocrisy."

"If we had met today," she said determined, "Would you choose to marry a dower less girl?"

He had no answer for that. Oh Elder Scrooge could think of a dozen answers, some cruel, some hopeful. Most of all he wanted to force his younger self to get down on his knees and propose to her once more.

But the boy said nothing. And that was the cruelest answer he could have given.

"And so she walked out of my life forever." Scrooge said bleakly. "Show me no more spirit. Please. Do you delight in torturing me?"

Sadly, she shook her head. "These are only shadows of what has been Ebenezer. Don't blame me for what they are." She placed a hand against his cheek and gave him a gentle, compassionate smile. "You've taken an important step here Eb. And it's been great seeing you again. But my part in this journey is done. It's for others to guide you from here."

And his perspective changed, her hand on his cheek felt like, a blanket corner, and he found he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his comforter clutched in one hand, the corner gently resting against his face. For the first time in decades, he felt like crying.

To Be Continued…


	5. The Second Spirit

**Chapter the Fifth**

**The Second Spirit**

He'd been unaware of falling asleep, as most generally are. Nor, as is often the case, was he aware of whether or not he had dreamed while sleeping. But he did feel upon the occasion of his waking, no longer despondent and depressed. As if his rest had done him much good.

He could not say for certain how he knew, but that he did know, that the hour was once again upon one. And he was glad he had awoken when he did, for the idea of actually being rudely awakened by an otherworldly visitor chilled him. Not being one who enjoys surprise, he pulled back every one of his bed curtains, the better to keep lookout, and not be made nervous by the second spirit.

Scrooge could not have honestly told anyone, if anyone were to ask, just what it was he'd been expecting. He knew for a certainty however, that he was _not_ expecting…nothing. The bell tolled one, and no shape. No apparition, flash of light, choir of angels, nothing. He felt himself begin to tremble at this, as if this silence was more terrible than the host of hell itself.

"In here!" a deep voice bellowed from the next room.

With a surprised blink, and start, Ebenezer looked towards the source of the sound, and found to his astonishment, ruddy light emanating from beneath the door. Tentatively, Scrooge approached the door, and reached out to knock.

"It's your house." The voice boomed good naturedly.

True enough, and Scrooge opened the door with a confidence he did not feel at present, and beheld his visitor.

The man was nearly a giant. Scrooge, no dwarf himself when drawn to his full height, never the less found this being towering over him like he was a child. His beard was longish but well kept, as was his hair, both the color of flames. His eyes sparkled with warmth, rivaled only by the rapturous blaze now burning in the fireplace, and he smiled at Scrooge like a long lost friend. He wore a robe, red as his hair, and trimmed with holly, and traveling clothes peeked from beneath. The robed was belted with a sword belt, the worn scabbard empty and rusted.

The room itself had undergone an amazing transformation. It was filled with all manner of confectionery, meat, poultry, fruit, vegetables, berries, punch, beer…Scrooge could barely take it all in.

"Hope you don't mind," the spirit said, "But I took the liberty of…well I guess _re-_decorating is the wrong term, because, well it's not like it was particularly decorated to begin with." He shook his head in affectionate disapproval. "Really man, you should take more time and enjoy your span on this earth."

Scrooge stood mute, still taken quite aback by the spirit's presence. There was such energy in this man that the room seemed barely able to contain him. And yet, he was placid too. Confident and calm. "I," he said, "For the purposes of this night, am the Ghost of Christmas Present." He held out his arm. "Come, for there is much to see, and far have we to travel."

Scrooge nodded mutely, and took hold of the spirit's robe.

It seemed as though the instant he touched the garment, the room about them fell away, and with disorienting clarity, Scrooge saw that they now stood upon a snow covered street. The weather was gloomy and foggy, the street narrow and poor, and yet there seemed to be an air of cheer about the area none the less.

"Where are we?" Scrooge demanded. "Camden Town?"

"Indeed." The spirit said. "I thought we'd start with someone you know well."

Without seeming to move at all, they were suddenly in the front room of one of the dwellings. There, bustling with anticipation and determination, a woman and some children were preparing a modest meal.

"Who's this?" Scrooge asked. He remembered how no one had noticed him or the Spirit of Christmas Past, and so felt quite comfortable speaking and moving around these people. He did however dodge out of the way of the smaller children who darted here and there, not wishing to know what would happen if they ran into him.

"This," the Spirit said, while inhaling the aroma of the pot over the fire, "Is the home, and family of one Bob Cratchitt."

Scrooge boggled. He'd known Bob was married and had children, but it'd never occurred to him that they'd be so…energetic. They had so little that was obvious to his eyes, and yet they didn't seem to mind.

Another young woman came in, greeted enthusiastically by Mrs. Cratchitt. Scrooge soon learned that this was Martha, Bob's oldest daughter. And he was astounded to hear the younger Cratchitts bragging to the girl of the size of the goose. He eyed the bird skeptically. How could they possibly feed all of them on that?

And no sooner had the girl arrived, then Bob himself returned home, a tiny child perched on his shoulder. The boy's legs were supported by an iron frame, and he held a crutch in one hand. He was a wisp of a boy, much, Scrooge thought, like his own dear sister.

The family all gathered, they soon sat down to eat, truly grateful for what they had, meager though it might be. Tiny Tim, the youngest and smallest of Bob's children, the sickly one, seemed to have the brightest spirit of all of them, a phenomenon that mystified Scrooge. If ever there was a boy deserving of all the foul humor he wished, it was Tim. And yet he was mild, and kind and patient. And happy. Above all Scrooge observed that the Cratchitts, From Bob, down to Tiny Tim, were happy.

"Spirit," Scrooge asked reluctantly. "Tell me, will Tiny Tim live?"

The spirit looked at him. "That is the future, and not my province."

Scrooge's expression appeared to move the spirit who seemed to confer with someone Scrooge could not see.

"I see an empty stool by the fire." The spirit said. "And a crutch without an owner. Unless something is done, he will not see another Christmas." Then he looked at Scrooge reproachfully. "But if he's going to die, he'd better do it eh? And decrease the surplus population." His expression grew darker. "If you be a man, forbear that wicked cant. Will you decide who shall live and who shall die? I have seen empires rise and fall, and time and again, men like you are less worthy than millions like this boy."

Scrooge bent under the weight of the rebuke, but before he could even properly feel remorse for his earlier statement, he heard his name called.

"To Mr. Scrooge." Bob was saying. "The founder of the feast."

"The founder of the feast?" Mrs. Cratchitt said incredulously. "Indeed! I wish he was here now, I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon!"

Bob looked chagrined. "Martha, Christmas-"

"It should be Christmas I'm sure, to drink to the health of such an, an, _odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling_ man as Scrooge. You know he is Robert, no one knows it better than you."

Bob's expression showed that yes, he certainly did know that. But it was clear where Tiny Tim got his mild manners. "Martha, please."

She sighed with frustration. "Very well. I'll drink the toast for your sake Robert. Not his. Longlifetohim."

The children spoke and drank the toast as well, but it was clear that even Tiny Tim had little joy in it. The spirit gave Scrooge just enough time to take this in, before a merry laugh split the air, and Scrooge whirled around to find himself in another room, far better furnished than the one he'd just left.

It was, in fact, the sitting room of his nephew's, in which, a gathering of close friends was enjoying itself thoroughly.

"He didn't!" one of the guests was saying.

"He did!" Fred insisted. "He said Christmas was a humbug."

"More the fool him Fred." The young man's wife said, shaking her head.

"You're an absolute saint to try." Said another guest.

Fred laughed ruefully. "Well, he's not as pleasant as he could be, but can't bring myself to be angry with him. Truth to tell I feel sorry for him. His offenses carry their own punishment. But I mean to give him the same chance every year. Whether he likes it or not."

There was more merriment at that, while Scrooge examined the scene with as much astonishment as he had the Cratchitts. Fred, pitied him? Of all the emotions he'd ever imagined anyone directing towards him, pity was not one of them. Not that he'd ever given it much thought. He supposed, more than anything else, the spirits were forcing him to actually look at the world around him.

Speaking of which, Scrooge looked around for the spirit, who had been mostly silent. And found him sampling the punch. "Not bad." He decreed. He saw Scrooge watching and smiled. "Getting the point man?"

Scrooge scowled, but the Spirit was unfazed. "Come Man, there is more to see. And my time is brief." The spirit took him far and wide. He showed him wretched miners, lonely sailors, isolated lighthouse keepers, prisoners, wanderers, hospitals, forts, farms and cities. And everywhere they went, the Spirit gave his blessing to those they found, and everyone of them had a kind word, or thought, or act, for someone on this day.

Soon, they found themselves in a Church, where a choir sang hymns. The music was sweeter than Scrooge had heard in a long time. Though he hadn't actually listened to music in a long time. Just how he knew, he was not certain, but Scrooge became aware that his time with this second Spirit was drawing to a close.

"Spirit," he said, "I have been meaning to ask, there, there is something, not belonging to you underneath your cloak…"

"I had wondered if you would ever notice." The spirit said pointedly. "Look, look here." And he brought forth from beneath his robe, two children, a boy and a girl. They perhaps had once been human, but now, they were starved, beaten, terrified and terrifying animals. Whatever abuses had been heaped upon them had driven the innocence and humanity from them, leaving devils lurking behind their eyes.

"Good lord," Scrooge hissed, "Spirit, are, are they yours?"

"They are yours." Came the hard answer. "They are man's. Beware them both, and all like them, but most of all beware the boy. For upon his brow I see that which is written doom. The boy, is Ignorance. The girl, is Want."

"Is, is there nothing to be done?" Scrooge asked quietly.

"Are there no prisons?" the Spirit bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the church. "Are there no poorhouses?"

The bell struck 12.

To be continued…


	6. The Third Spirit

**Chapter the 6th**

**The Third Spirit**

The minute the peals of the bell faded, Scrooge felt a presence looming behind him. He turned, slowly, trepidatiously, to face the third, and final spirit. This one too was taller than Scrooge, though shorter, and slighter than it's predecessor. It was unmistakably male, but it wore a dark robe that hid it's entire body, save some of it's face, and it's hands. In which it held a massive tome.

The book was old, but in perfect condition. At the angle it was held, Ebeneezer could not see the writing within it, and it was secured by a chain, to the spirit's wrist.

"Am, am I in the presence of the, spirit of Christmas Future?"

The spirit nodded, without speaking. The silence was what frightened him the most. But in the shifting of the shadows in the hood, Scrooge had glimpsed it's eyes. Blind, sightless eyes that nevertheless stared intently at him. That was a close second.

He swallowed, steeling himself. "Lead, lead on spirit. The night is passing quickly, and the time is precious I know. Lead on."

Silently, the specter turned the page in it's book. As he did so, Scrooge and his companion moved. Yet he did not have the sense of moving, so much as, the world moving around him.

He recognized the courtyard immediately as a place where men of business would gather between meetings and deals. He'd always found the practicality of the place comforting. Stolid faced men bustled here and there, with an occasional nose in a ledger, somehow navigating without looking very often.

"No I don't know much about it." a man was saying. A small group had stopped to gossip. He knew the men, and drifted closer to hear what they were saying. "I only know he's dead."

"What happened? I thought he'd never leave."

The speaker shrugged. "Died in the night I heard."

"What's to become of his money?" another asked.

Another shrug. "I would imagine he left it to his company. Not to me, that's all I know."

"Well I expect it will be a cheap funeral. Which would probably please the old miser. I can't think of anyone who'd go. Maybe we should."

One of them laughed. "Well I don't mind. If there's to be food. I must be fed if I make that effort."

Scrooge scowled at the men, and looked back at the Spirit uncomprehendingly. But it had already shifted it's attention to another meeting.

"Morning."

"Morning."

"So old Scratch finally got what was coming to him."

"So I've heard. Cold isn't it."

"Well it's seasonal for Christmas isn't it. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

With a confused blink, Scrooge watched the two men go on their way. Why had the spirit showed him this? The conversations were so trivial. People died in London every day. He turned to question his guide, but as he watched, the Ghost's finger, moved down the page. As it did, once again the world moved, until they stood in a dirty, disgusting shop.

Ebeneezer recoiled in revulsion from something lying on a table that he didn't care to identify. The smell wasn't much better. The proprietor of the shop didn't seem bothered by the state of things in the least. And though he was dressed almost as shabbily as Bob Cratchitt, he held himself as if he were the lord of a manor.

The door, or what passed for one in that place, opened, and a stooped old woman carrying a bundle entered. Very soon after her, came another woman, and not long after _her_ a tall man dressed all in black.

The trio stared in amazement at each other, and then the stooped woman began to laugh. "What odds eh Joe? If we haven't all arrived here at once without meaning to."

"You couldn't have come to a better place Hettie." the man, who Scrooge now knew was called Joe smiled lazily. "Come in, all of you, let's see what you've got for me."

"You dearies go on ahead." Hettie smiled, settling herself down. She was content to wait. Her plunder was superior to the others, both in worth, and in shock value to the unseen audience, which only she knew was there.

The first woman produced a few kitchen utensils. The Undertaker's assistant had cuff links, a watch, and some other various odds and ends. Joe appraised them, and bought them. For much less money than he could resell them for.

Finally, it was Hettie's turn. She smirked as Joe unrolled her bundle and found...

"What the-bed curtains?"

"Bed curtains." she confirmed. "He's not likely to need them now is he?"

"You took them down, rings and all? With him still lying there?"

She shrugged. "They wouldn't have gone to any good use."

"He didn't die of anything catching I hope."

Another cackle. "Oh don't you worry yourself about that dearie duck. I'm not so fond of him that I'd have lingered about if he had."

Joe swallowed. This was a bit mercenary, even for him. Still and all, the goods were promising. And Hettie had a point. Everyone had a right to look after themselves, and the old man didn't need these things. If they hadn't taken them, someone else would have. Now they might even go to someone who really _did_ need them. Not that that was the point of course. He just needed the money.

But all such thoughts fled in the face of what he held now. "That's..."

"You'll not find a spot of dirt or threadbare place on that shirt." Hettie declared with pride, as if she'd made the garment herself. "It's the best one he had. They'd have wasted it, silly blighters."

"What-what do you mean, wasted it?"

"They put it on him to be buried in. But I knows the proper use of such things."

Scrooge, was properly disgusted. He could not have been more repulsed if they had been selling the bits and pieces of the man himself. He backed up towards the Spirit, as if seeking comfort, and bumped his leg against...a bed.

It was difficult to make out anything in the room, as a single light shone down on the bed, leaving the rest in darkness. But he could hear rats under the hearthstone, and a cat scratching at the door. No doubt seeking, that which lay in the bed.

There was no one there to mourn the man, covered but haphazardly with a single white sheet. No one to watch over the body and make sure the rats and the cat did not get to it. Or to keep vultures from looting the corpse of it's possessions.

His guide stood just inside the circle of light, pointing to the sheet. Though it still had yet to speak, Scrooge knew what it wanted. And he shrank away, cringing. "I-I know what you want me to do." he said. Clearly it wanted him to look upon whoever was on the bed. "And-and if I could, I would, but...I cannot. I cannot."

The finger lowered, returning to marking it's place on the page before the specter. It seemed to have relented for the moment. "Spirit I beg you, is there no one who feels anything at the death of this wretch? If there is, show it to me I implore you."

The only response, was for the spirit to turn the page once more. Now they were in a small home, not too different than Bob Cratchitt's house, where a young woman paced nervously. Her children watched on, confused and anxious. A young man, whom Scrooge took to be the man of the house entered, looking somber, yet, hopeful.

"Well?" the woman asked, breathless. "What news? Good? Bad?"

"Bad." the man said honestly. "But there is hope Coraline."

"Oh well of course there's hope, _if _he's relented. If a miracle like that has happened nothing is past hope."

"Well, he's past relenting. He's, well he's dead."

"Oh thank God!" Coraline exclaimed. Her hand went to her mouth in horror. "Oh Lord, forgive me. That was a horrible thing to say."

Scrooge couldn't agree more. She had begged forgiveness, but the utterance was the reaction of her heart. And her husband did not reprove her. "I don't know who will take up our debt." he went on. "But by the time that's decided, we will have the money. We can sleep easy tonight my darling."

Ebeneezer, wanted to vomit. Whoever this man had been...and he was having his suspicions, he had been such a monster that the only emotion the spirit could find regarding his death, was relief.

"Show me, show me tenderness, remorse Spirit, please. Connected to a death, any death."

The cloaked figure was as implacable as ever, it's finger moving down the page. And once more, Scrooge found himself in Bob Cratchitt's house. He gasped in dismay, guessing why they were here.

The woman of the house and her children were gathered around the fire. There was none of the vim and vigor that had possessed them last time. They were very quiet, and subdued.

Pinching her nose, Mrs. Cratchitt put aside her embroidery. "The color hurts my eyes by firelight." she explained to her youngest daughter. "And I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father. Not for the world." She looked expectantly towards the front door. "He should be home soon, but I think he's walked a bit slower these past few days. I've known him to walk-" At that moment, her voice choked off, and she struggled to keep her composure. "I've known him to walk with Tiny Tim on his shoulder so quickly.

"He was so small, and your father loved him so..." She was rambling now, telling the children things they already knew about their father, and their baby brother. But they were things she needed to say. To keep it bottled up would have been too much for her.

Soon enough, the man himself returned. It wasn't until this moment, when Scrooge saw him so hunched, and subdued, that he realized that Cratchitt had always carried himself with optimism, good cheer, and even pride. Gone was the man whom he had just seen standing so tall. Bob's eyes were sunken with grief, his shoulders slumped. His employer noticed all this despite his best efforts to hide it when he came in. He smiled at his wife and his children.

"So, you went today?" Mrs. Cratchitt asked.

"Oh yes." he nodded. "I wish you could have come too, it would have done you good to see how green it is. And it has a lovely view. But of course you'll see it often. I promised him we would come visit him on Sundays-" But he could not pretend for long. His smile died on his face and his voice broke. It was all he could do to keep standing as sobs forced their way past his composure.

Ebeneezer watched helplessly as his clerk regained himself, and went upstairs to gaze upon the body of his youngest son. Alone, he could allow himself to break down, if only for awhile. And for the first time in years, Scrooge reached out for another human being, seeking to lay his hand upon Bob's shoulder. But of course he could not.

Almost as if he could sense the intended gesture of comfort however, Bob calmed, and went back downstairs. He sat before the fire, by his wife's side, as the smallest of the family clambered into his lap. After a moment, he told them that he had run into Fred, Scrooge's nephew that day.

"He said 'I'm heartily sorry to hear that Mr. Cratchitt.' When I told him what had happened." he told them. "'And for your poor family.' It almost seemed as if he'd known our Tim, and mourned with us." His arms tightened around the two children in his lap. "I'm very happy." he said finally. "Very happy to have you all. And whenever, or however we shall part with each other, I know that...remembering Tiny Tim, we won't quarrel easily."

"Never father." the little ones assured him.

"Very happy." he repeated, a sad smile on his face.

Heartbroken, Scrooge turned from the scene, and found himself facing the spirit, that seemed to stare through him with it's sightless eyes. With a hard swallow, he steeled himself for the question, he dreaded to ask. But he knew he must ask. He suspected the answer already, but he had to know for certain.

"Spirit, who, who was the man...the man that lay on the bed? His name? What was his name?"

Another move of the hand, the finger seeming to impale the words on the page, and they were in the yard of the church they had left only moments, or long ago. Among the stones, one stood out. It almost seemed to glow, though there was no perceivable light around it.

"There." the spirit intoned. It's voice was not remarkable, but it's silence up till then made the pronouncement ring like thunder. It's hand was no longer holding it's place in the book, but pointing inexorably towards the fresh grave.

With a swallow, he approached the indicated grave. After a few steps, he stopped. "Spirit, answer me this, are these the shadows of things that will be, or of things that only might be?"

He received no answer.

Another few steps closer. And he began to talk, not to the spirit, but to himself. If his guide would not comfort him, it fell to himself to do the job. "A man's life, leads to certain ends, depending on his circumstances. But, but if he changes those circumstances, those actions, the ends will change." Again he stopped, and turned. "Please, tell me it is thus, with what you show me?"

Immovable as ever.

At last, he reached the stone. And despite the gloom in the yard, he could easily make out, his, own, name.

Ebeneezer, Scrooge.

He had known it. From the first conversation, he had known in his soul that they were talking about him. But until he'd gotten confirmation, he could pretend to himself that it was someone else. But now, the truth of it lay before him, written in stone.

"No!" he cried, falling back. "No, please!" It was not the fear of death itself that spurred him, not only that at any rate. But the attitudes he had seen towards his death. "Spirit hear me! I am not the man I was when Jacob came to me! I have listened and learned from you and the others, I have changed! I _will_ change!" He struggled to his feet, then fell to his knees, clutching at the spirit's robe. "Please, tell me I may yet wipe away the writing on this stone!"

Impassively, silently, the robed figure looked down upon him, and the fabric of the robe, changed. Where it had been the rough cloth of a Monk's robes, it was now smooth, soft, and heavy. Like...bed curtains.

Bed curtains that had not been torn down rings and all in fact.

To be concluded...


	7. Christmas Day

**Chapter the 7th**

**Christmas Day**

Scrooge stared at the curtains in surprise, and even maybe just a bit of awe. He didn't want to remove his hand from them for fear they might fade away. But, they certainly _felt_ real.

As he touched the bed curtains, he became aware of other sensations. The firm bed beneath him, the cold of the room. The creaking of the floor as he shifted his weight. The sunlight streaming in his window, and then, the bells. The bells that rang out loud, clear, and joyous. He'd never believed that anything could sound so glorious!

But then he couldn't remember a time when he'd been this glad to be alive either.

"I-I'm back. I'm home." he murmured. "I'm alive!" And he fell to his knees and thanked God, the spirits, and of course, Jacob Marley. "Oh, my friend may the Lord forgive you all your trespasses for what you have done for me. I will keep the lessons the spirits taught close. The shadows of what was to become can be dispelled. They _will_ be dispelled! I know it!"

He leaped to his feet, and found himself possesed of an energy he'd not had since he was a boy. "I don't know what to do! I don't even know what day it is! What month! How long have I been among the spirits?" He rushed to the window and threw it open.

The cold of the outside was brisk, and refreshing, quite unlike the cold in his room. It made him close his eyes and take a deep breath. No doubt his appreciation for it would fade once he'd recovered from his adventure, but for now, he loved the winter's chill.

Oh! Someone was coming! They could tell him what he needed to know. "You! Boy!" he shouted down, with none of his characteristic growling. He was still in too good a mood. Amazing what a second lease on life can do for a man. "What's today?" He realized later of course that he must have seemed like a fool, or a loony.

"Eh?" the boy stopped, looked around, and finally spotted Ebeneezer in the window.

"What's today my fine fellow?"

The boy blinked. Had the old man gone soft in the head that he did not know? "Today is Christmas day sir!"

Scrooge nearly squealed with glee. Yes! "Christmas day? Then I haven't missed it! The spirits did it all in one night! Of course they did, they can do anything!" An idea began to glimmer in his mind, and it made him grin mischievously.

Rrrrright. The boy looked up at Scrooge appraisingly. Well if he was crazy, or just very drunk, at least he seemed a pleasant lunatic.

"Do you know the poulterers up the street?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know if they've sold the prize turkey in the window?"

"What the one as big as I am? No sir it's still there!"

Excellent! What an intelligent lad! It was a pleasure to talk to him. "Go and buy it! Come back with it and I'll give you a shilling! Come back in less than half an hour, and, and I'll give you half a crown!"

Part of him balked at the frivolous spending, but he squashed it. He could, upon reflection, afford it. Afford it many times over to be honest. He began to laugh as he dressed. "I'll send it to Bob's house. But he shant know who it's from." he chuckled. He rather liked the idea of being nice, but sneaky.

Dressed in his finest, he stepped out into the cold morning. And right on time, as the boy was returning with a rather distrustful and disgruntled looking poulterer. He gave the boy a crown. Really, when he thought about it, it must have taken some clever talk to convince the man of what Scrooge had said.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed as he beheld the bird up close. "That's a turkey? He could never have stood on those legs, he'd have snapped them off! You can't carry that all the way to Camden Town."

The man agreed whole heartedly.

"You must have a cab!" He laughed as he said it, and laughed even as he paid for the bird, the cab, and the boy. He was still picturing the shocked and bewildered faces of Bob and his family.

Both the boy and the poulterer didn't seem too put out by his behavior. They shouldn't, after all they were getting money out of the deal. For the most part they merely shrugged to themselves and thought "Eh, it's Christmas." They might have been more surprised had they known just who it was they were dealing with.

When they were gone, Scrooge didn't know quite what to do with himself so he decided just to take a walk, and see what happened. He had never just walked for the sake of walking, nor did he tend to look around when he walked. Today he did. He was seeing everything for the first time, and even, hesitantly, experimentally, wished passers by a merry Christmas. And found himself warmed when they said it back.

And then, there before him he saw the charity workers who had come into his office the day before. He swallowed, fearing what they might say. Or maybe they would just glower at him. That had never bothered him before. But he was the new and improved Scrooge. The old Scrooge might have avoided them...well no the old Scrooge would not have cared, and might nearly have run them over on his way to work. The new Scrooge didn't do that. No, he strode right up to them.

"Oh! Good day to you sirs. I hope you did well in your endeavors yesterday. You're both very kind."

He swore he would never get tired of that shocked look. "Mr. Scrooge?"

"That is my name." he confirmed. "And I know it may not be a pleasant one to your hearing. But I wish to make amends. I wonder if you would be so kind as to put me down for..." And then he leaned forward and whispered in the man's ear. No sense declaring how much money he could afford to the whole city.

"My, my dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?"

"Completely. A great many back payments are included in that number, I assure you."

"Well, I don't know what to say-"

"Don't, don't say anything." Scrooge cut him off. "Come to my offices tomorrow and I'll make the arrangements. Will you come to see me?"

"I will indeed sir. And Thank you."

"No thank you sir." Scrooge doffed his hat, and was on his way.

To his nephew's house, it turned out.

He walked past it five times before he worked up the courage to knock on the door. But finally he did it. It was much like someone leaping into a pool of cold water, where you just have to do it quickly or not at all. A rather bewildered looking maid answered his knock.

"Uhm, yes Sir?"

Scrooge removed his had. "Good afternoon my dear. Is your master at home?"

"He's upstairs with his guests. Shall I announce-"

"Oh, no that's alright." he interrupted her. He figured it'd be harder to deny him if he was already inside. "He knows me, and I know the way. Pardon me." He sidled past her and went up the stairs, while she stared after him in confusion.

He peeped around the door into the room where Fred was even now, regaling his guests with the tale of how Scrooge had called Christmas a humbug.

"And I think I shook him yester-bless my soul! Who's that?"

Scrooge looked embarrassed, but wondered if the guests would think that he and his nephew had staged this whole thing. "It's I. Your Uncle Scrooge. I've come to dinner. Will you let me in Fred?"

Not only did Fred let him in, he nearly shook Scrooge's arm off in his zeal to welcome him. The guests, did indeed believe that Ebeneezer and his nephew had planned this whole thing, and nothing they said could shake that belief. It became a private joke between the two of them, which served to strengthen the bond.

The next morning, Scrooge's newfound sense of humor reared it's head once more. He came in early to the office, hoping that Bob would be late. Bob was a good man, but even he could be waylaid by drink.

And sure enough, Bob was a whole 18 minutes behind when he came in. The poor man must have run the whole way, and seemed to have removed his scarf on the way, as it was already off when he entered.

He leaped onto his stool and began writing as fast as he could to catch up.

"Well, well, well." Scrooge said, scowling. "How nice of you to finally join me Mr. Cratchitt."

Bob gulped. "Uh, I'm sorry sir, I am, er, behind my time."

"You are?" he gasped in mock amazement. "Oh yes I believe you are. Step into my office if you please." Who knew it would be so hard for Ebeneezer Scrooge to scowl?

His clerk made his way reluctantly into the office, averting his gaze and stammering apologies.

"I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again. I was making rather merry last night and I-"

"Enough. I will tell you, that I will not stand for this sort of thing. Is that clear?"

"I-it's only once a year-"

"And therefore," he interrupted, rising abruptly, "And therefore, I am about to raise your salary!"

Bob cringed reflexively and almost started begging not to be fired, when the words sunk in. "Sir?"

Scrooge could stand it no longer and burst out laughing. "Merry Christmas Bob. A merrier Christmas than I have ever wished you. I will raise your salary."

Bob was looking at him like he'd gone insane or something. And to be honest, Scrooge could not be sure he had not. But it was a happy harmless insane.

"And I will endeavor to help you and your struggling family. Now make up the fires, and as long as you're up, buy another coal scuttle won't you?"

Scrooge did assist Bob's family. And with the funds he provided, Tiny Tim was made better than ever. Scrooge knew that there were those who laughed, or thought it strange, the sudden change in him. But he didn't mind. He laughed and thought it just as strange. But it was a good kind of strange.

"Wow." Death grinned, leaning back against the wall next to Jacob. "I gotta hand it to you Jake, you guys picked a winner this time. And how."

"Thank you." Jacob smiled, watching Scrooge. "I'm just glad I could help."

"Yeah." she smiled wider, and pointed to his chain, which was fading away. "You did help. Maybe it took a while, but you finally got the point. Ready to go?"

Jacob looked around at all the other ghosts who finally had shed their chains. "My dear I think we've all been ready for quite some time. Lead on Mac Duff."

"It's lay on Mac duff actually." she teased.

The End


End file.
